CFS, No. 4

It's the Cute Fucking Shit Inaugural edition!

I know, I know. The Inauguration hype is sort of running out of steam and people are slowly resorting back to realizing how much life sucks. At least it's in a mindset of suffering conditions in the country rather than suffering leaders in the country.

Still, I can't get over Maliah and Sasha! Jeeze. They're just. Too. Precious. There have been a ton of stories about their Jonas Brothers scavenger surprise and the fancy new school they're attending (though aren't all DC private schools...), almost to the point where you'd wonder if they're kinda, you know, brats. To be honest, I'm insanely jealous of them. But I think I can rest assured that these two are not little a-holes because in all their pictures they seem to be innocently, sincerely loving every moment of their pop's limelight. Case A: Huffington Post's "Most Adorable Moments" slideshow, in which we see Maliah documenting these life-changing days on her digital camera (something about that is just so cool and endearing to me) and Sasha looking like she had successfully coerced the White House kitchen to enable her major sugar addiction. Scuse me while I puke rainbows.

Obauguration

The fact that no one is talking about what an historic day it is here in this office gives me severe misgivings. It also makes me miss my hometown DC (aka "God's country" as a high school friend used to call it) more than I ever thought I would. I am so ridiculously proud of the Obamas and must say that we have one fiiiine lookin' family in the White House. Seriously. Sasha and Meliah were a-DORBZ, Michelle looked like a lemon pudding dream, and Barack looked about as refreshing and expensive as an economic stimulus package.

And here's some fun for the losers like those of us who WEREN'T invited to an inaugural ball. Which I'm sure will all have shitty booze and lame jams. Anyway, look guys! An inauguration ball gown quiz! I got 7 out of 8. How'd you do?

This film has been brought to you by every closet on Bedford Avenue.

Tonight some friends and I saw the movie Milk and made a lot of homo jokes. As in, "Man, I knew that mall cop movie would be gay, but sheesh!" The movie was fantastic and strangely still relevant today and I loved it and bla bla bla bla.

But what I really want to talk about is the WANT factor of everything any actor was wearing throughout the film. Am I psycho for wanting to dress like a permed gay rights lesbian activist from 1978? Probably. In fact, I really just want to dress like Emile Hirsch's character. I have got to get my hands on a pair of these frames:My friend Amanda commented that the whole movie was evidently sort of a 2-hour commercial for American Apparel, and I think I agree with her. I mean, kooky specs, unflatteringly tight textiles, and washed-out drab colors and hoodies? Yeah, sounds like stock in which a hipster would invest. Regardless. I'm willing to risk coming off as an epic fail and swear to rock a pair of tube socks and high running shorts sometime this summer with split-toned Jackie O shades. You won't be able to miss me, boys.


(PS: Apparently Holly Madison sells a line of tube socks. If you think I'm not itching to get my mitts on a set of those puppies then you don't know me well enough, friend.)

Please renew this clusterfuck, Bravo. PLEASE.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! Bravo is running a Real Housewives of New York City marathon! Right now! Are you watching it?! Watch it! Exclamation points!

The Real Housewives franchise is easily one of my favorite things in life. It's reality TV without the trash, so you don't really feel guilty watching it, you know? Kind of like reading Elle (not exactly the New Yorker but not exactly Cosmopolitan). Well, ok, addendum: the ladies of Atlanta kind of brought some trash(-y hookers!). It's a tightrope we're walkin, right Kim?

For me though, the women of New York produced the best dynamic, probably because each of the five of them had distinctly honed personalities with a basket full of neuroses and negatives that I can scrutinize. Not to say that the OC girls and the Atlanta girls are boring by any means, but it's like, the OC girls are all backstabby blond bitches. And the Atlanta girls are all (say it with me) trashy hookers. The New York girls, on the other hand, are just a squawky mess. And since you all care, here's my profile of each woman:

Ramona I already talked about this lady a while ago, and my sentiments still ring true as I revisit the season this morning. In the last episode, in front of three models, Ramona made the statement that "modeling is an industry that doesn't require a lot of brains." Then she dug herself into a more hilarious hole by trying to apologize. What a girl-woman. I hope no one ever clues her in.


LuAnn Not to say that this group isn't perfect, but ugh! If there's one woman I could pluck out it would be LuAnn, the "cunt-ess." LuAnn thinks her "royal" shit doesn't stink, sauntering about with a sense of entitlement that I once believed was only real in period movies. She barks at her housekeeper, refuses to go on a first-name basis with drivers and the like (since they're "like children" and under her authority), and attributes the privileges she deserves to her European title. Seriously, are you fucking kidding me, LuAnn? As if "European" was even an indication of superiority over "American." She therefore is an immediate target for...

Alexandsimon Alex should always be referred to as Alexandsimon. Since her confusedosexual British husband, Simon, is practically sewn to her fabulous Roberto Cavali frocks (that he picked out). Alexandsimon is OB-sessed with gaining access to the upper echelons of society, so much so that Alexandsimon makes it a 24-hour job to research events, shop for designer costumes to wear to said events, and then scour the paper the next day for photographs of Alexandsimon at the event. Wearing the fabulous Roberto Cavali frock. Alexandsimon also has this insecure unrelenting quest to live the European life that LuAnn espouses, naming the children François and Johann and making it a point to tell everyone that François (who is fucking FOUR) makes speeches or whatever in French and Latin. This surreal behavior ere go takes a toll on Alexandsimon's house, which is dilapidated, and the stuff Alexandsimon's kids should be learning, like basic colors/numbers/shapes, and manners.

Jill Aw, Jill. The most balanced, normal lady in the whole cycle. There's very little shade of character in Jill that I could criticize, because she has her head on straight in the way that only a hardened, no-nonsense Jewish woman from New York would. She talks about her boobs ALL the time, which is kind of hilarious, only stopping to make astute, completely correct critiques of the other crazy housewives. She's in love with her awful chihuahua instead of status, which, after LuAnn and Alexandsimon, is really refreshing. Oh yeah, and she hates Ramona and it's fucking hysterical.

Bethenny After Jill Bethenny is the one who I could see myself totally being friends with. She's the only non-married, non-mother of the group, and she won't let us forget it. Bethenny's job is to cook food sometimes but mostly to just get drunk and badger her boyfriend about proposing and making her pregnant immediately. She's best friends with Jill, understandably, since they're both really good at sitting across a table from pretentious idiots and rolling their eyes. Her talent for critique is exercised in full force on her Bravo blog, where she attacks Housewives of other seasons in similar unminced words. Keep on keepin on, homegirl.


UPDATE As Bethenny would say, holy inappropriateness! The Bravo gods heard my prayers and are indeed blessing America with a second season of New York Housewives. This calls for a GNO with Alexandsimon. I hope we get photographed!

Buy my domestic bliss

Yall, I'm movin! It is time for me to bid adieu to my totally impractical Brooklyn apartment and haul ass (and lots of other shit that's going to burn a god damn crater in my credit line) over to a brand spankin' sexy new flat in Washington Heights.

The move makes me anxious for a handful of reasons: I'll be living on my own; I'll be paying more rent while not sharing utilities; I'm not sure how my neighbors will take to the black tar heroin ring I operate from home... Most of all, my palms are sweatin over the dollars I'll have to spend. I'll be breaking bank not only for the inter-island schlep, but also for the myriad of abstracts that I still need to, like, live.

I was joking with my friend Amytang that I'm going to have a housewarming party for which I'll create a gift registry at Urban Outfitters, Ikea, Bed Bath & Beyond, and the like. It started out as a joke but the more I consider how fucking sparse my inventory is, I'm beginning to take it very seriously. So without further ado, here is how you can contribute to the Katelyn Lahr Apartment Foundation:

1. Coat rack Unfortunately there is a terrific lack of closet space in the new digs, but ample entryway. I like it in light blue, okay guys?
2. Mattress pad Now that I'm not living in an 8'x8' sleeping cubby, I can turn my twin size bed into something that the MTV would call "where the magic happens." My magic (read: Facebooking, sleeping, and occassionally eating pickles) needs proper lumbar support and queen-sized rolling area.
3. Pots and pans Because in the new apartment, unlike in Brooklyn now, I will NOT be making bestfriends with that guy from Sapporo Haru who delivers my sushi and seems eerily content with making a 20-minute trip in 14-degree weather.
4. Curtains It's curtains for me! Nyah hahahaha. I think these seafoam guys have the potential to look either very happy or like a hospital treatment.
5. A dresser Or wardrobe. Totes loves this mirrored one from Pier 1:

6. Quilts, pillows, comfies I really love the stuff Urban has, but I cannot justify paying twice the amount I spend on groceries on fucking fluff stuffed in fabric. Still... this Russian doll bedspread is criminally precious.

7. A microwave Can you believe I don't have one? Why? Who am I?

8. Some pretty paper laterns I think I'm a little too fond of paper lanterns. They're nice and they emit a warm glow, that's for sure, but they kind of scream "I'm a white girl who's trying to make my dorm room look classy."

9. Something to get me started Duh. And my new neighborhood juice emporium delivers! Hurrah!
10. A kitteh I'm going to be so lonesome! (sad face) Allegedly no pets are allowed in the building, but when I looked at the place the first go-round a woman was on her way out to take her pooch for a walk. I think if she can keep a yappy terrier I can smuggle in a four-pound something that confines itself to one apartment, poos and pees in a box, and never makes sound except to hiss at me when I'm drunk. I'm doin it.

Thanks again, Vh1

Tonight I resigned myself to Vh1 to watch some wholesome family programming. By that I mean trashy episodes of Rock of Love Bus, Real Chance of Love, and Tool Academy. First item on tonight's post is the fact that I'm actually in effing LOVE with the song from Real Chance of Love, "Does She Love Me," performed by America's most eligible bachelors, the Stallionaires. For cereal you all, this song is catchy!



Next item. Tool Academy. It's sort of like Charm School, except it doesn't feature the alumni of previously crappy reality shows to labor. Basically, nine "tools" are forced to go through a relationship boot camp per the wiles of their doormat girlfriends. Obviously this is much to the chagrin of the nine gentlemen, who enjoy engaging in things like screaming why they're awesome, wearing aviators while they spray Pam on their delts, and giving themselves idiotic American Gladiator pseudonyms. They also have trouble living with the fact that being confined to a grooming academy for 30 days grossly interferes with their agenda of banging twins every night and drinking Natty Lites. This show's pretty easy to follow, mostly because every other word is "babe," "bro," or "douche." I say: beer me a whole season of this shit, dude.

Babylegs, 2009 edition

You guys! My pop gave Babylegs a really fawesome facelift. There are two other alternative headers, which I'm considering changing out over the next few weeks. Just to try on for size.

And for the record, yes, that is the real BL making "crab feet" in Montauk, c. August 1986 because I had no idea what the fuck my mom was trying to place me on. I had a sand phobia, like most normal children.

Top 10 Characters of 2008

10. Jonathan Rhys Meyers: He totally out-douched himself as Henry VIII on the second season of The Tudors, which returned this year as the porniest thing besides Californication that was allowed on TV. I guess he tied this spot with Natalie Dormer, who played a totally kick-ass, painfully beautiful Anne Boleyn. And much better than Natalie Portman did.

9. Megan: Rock of Love's Megan inspired just way too much hatred from me to be excluded from this list. Megan defines the profile of that girl who knows she can use a rockin bod to get, like, whatEVER she wants (and yes, I'm only saying that because I'm jealous). Consequently, she wears nothing but teeny weeny bikinis everywhere (seriously, everywhere) and tries to carbon copy Paris Hilton by walking around with a smug grin and a dressed-up chihuahua. Unlike Paris, however, she does not stop imbibing, which gives her constant ceiling eyes, and she seems to be unaware that her 15 minutes will be up as soon as Vh1 cuts the cord on this ridiculous batch of incestuous reality show characters. PS: thanks much to Sharon Osbourne for giving Megan just a fraction of what I wish I could.

8. Heather: Heather is definitely the undisputed heathen queen of Vh1 - I will forever sing her praises (until, you know, like, Vh1 realizes they can only ride on the same four reality shows for so long). Unfortunately I missed her breathtaking performance in the first season of Rock of Love, which included Steph's faves like the "yumola" oyster scene and a joyride through some of the most ridiculous hairstyles imaginable. I think this little vignette sums it up perfectly. Regardless, in 2008, Bret's old flame championed through a second round of RoL 2, I Love Money, and Charm School, kicking Daisy's ass, hating Megan, hating Megan some more, and ultimately faltering under the marijuana ban they imposed on the set of Charm School. Hows about a 21-gun salute for our fallen pothead stripper soldier.

7. Christian Siriano: Bar-none the most talented, innovative, and awe-inspiring designer on Project Runway. After his victory the show clearly began to meet its demise, so it was only appropriate that he gave ProjRun its defining peak. Plus, he gets definite bonus points for being a total featherweight twink that defines his edge with such catch phrases as "tickety tack" and "fierce." (Yep, sorry Tyra, but Christian totally swept that carpet from out under your feet.)

6. Wall-E: This little robot almost pissed me off in his sheer adorableness and vulnerably good heart. Jesus. For three straight days back in July, I couldn't stop being all like "oooowaaaaaallleeeeeeee."

5. Jemaine Clement: Yes, Jemaine, yes it IS business time.

4. NeNe Leakes: "Caution to the wind, bras be damned" was this lady's mantra. If there was ever one woman in the Housewife collection who I'd want to hang with, it would most surely be NeNe. As her awesomely colorful voice was a pleasure to imitate among friends, she gave us such quotable gems as "don't be tardy to this party," and "close your legs to married men," and "TRASHY HOOKER." Her eccentricity completely made up for the fact that she kinda got hilariously drunk and kinda hilariously ripped on her "best friend" in a limo one night... especially since her best friend was totally self-deluded and self-centered. Whatever. NeNe, you're the lady.

3. Ramona Singer: aka "Ramoron." I seriously think this lady is full-on retarded. However, Ramona has definitely been my favorite housewife thus far in Bravo's whole series. Though NeNe is surely spunky and "three-snaps-in-the-Z-formation" enough for me, Ramona was just too faithful and too sincere in her ridiculousness to forget. She sort of reminded me of that aunt you had that loved to be around girls, and spoil them with outlandish tea parties, or try and infiltrate their adolescent teen pop world and be the "cool mom." She refused to be painted as anything but the perennially young Manhattan party girl, and in my book she gets immediate points for style and consistency.

2. Don Draper: This man needs no explanation. Even if I knew he's had careless, unprotected sex with scores of uppity brunettes, wastes his lungs and liver away on packs of Lucky Strikes and old-fashioneds, and based his entire life on a lie about his identity... yeah... I'd still hit that.

1. Barack Obama: Duh. That one.